Theatre of Nightmares
by Haleine Delail
Summary: When the Purveyor of Nightmares catches up with the Doctor and Martha, they find themselves trapped in a bizarre nightmare of music and love... after a fashion. Quite silly. Oneshot!


**LEAVING BEHIND THE WORLD I SEEM TO HAVE CREATED FEATURING THE DOCTOR AND MARTHA AS A COUPLE FOR A BIT... WE'RE BACK INTO A MORE CANONICAL SCENARIO WITH THIS ONE-SHOT.**

**SO, SIMPLY PUT: I'M A DOCTOR WHO FAN, I'M A MUSICAL THEATER FAN. I WROTE THIS PURELY AS A WAY TO SATISFY THIS RIDICULOUS COMPULSION I'VE RECENTLY HAD TO CATEGORIZE SONGS FROM THE THEATER THAT MARTHA JONES MIGHT SING. SINCE I DON'T HAVE EDITING EQUIPMENT TO INFLICT MY OBSESSION ON THE INNOCENT WATCHERS OF YOUTUBE, I AM RESTRICTED TO THE WORLD OF FANFICTION!**

**THIS MIGHT BE THE SILLIEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN. ALSO, CREDIT WHERE CREDIT IS DUE: SPECIAL THANKS TO LYRICISTS STEPHEN SCHWARTZ, TIM RICE, HERBERT KRETZMER AND LESLIE BRICUSSE. AND FOLKS, IF YOU'VE NEVER LISTENED TO THESE SONGS, DO IT! POWERFUL STUFF, ESPECIALLY FOR MARTHA SYMPATHIZERS! ENJOY!**

* * *

"Fancy going to a show tonight?" the Doctor asked as he and Martha Jones rounded the corner into Liester Square. On the marquee above, a green face stared down, eyeless, smirking. He indicated it. "I haven't seen _Wicked _yet."

Martha made a face. "I can't stand musicals," she said. "They're ridiculous. Are they singing, are they talking, are they dancing, are they walking? Make up your mind!"

The Doctor looked at her with surprise and a bit of amusement. "Wow. I've never seen you react so harshly toward something that didn't have tentacles. Forget I asked!"

"Sorry," she said. "It's just… my grandmother had a thing about Rodgers and Hammerstein for some reason, and she forced us to watch all these _campy_ movie musicals when we were kids. Plus, my friend at school had a vast array of cast recordings stretching from here into next Tuesday. I guess I was a bit too literal as a child, but I never understood how a group of people could just burst into song like that."

"You might be missing the point of the art form, Martha," he told her.

"I know, I know."

"Well, we could go to a play," he offered. "We haven't been to the Globe in modern times. Or we could go see _An Inspector Calls_ – I hear that's fascinating."

And all at once, their bodies were removed from the ground and their faces were pulled into the wind. Their shoulders, arms, torsos, hips, legs and feet followed, and for a few moments, they seemed to be one with the air. They were being pulled at an extraordinary speed across London and then underground. The same process brought them back to themselves, only in reverse. First their feet were solid on the floor, then legs, hips, torsos, arms, shoulders and heads.

When they stopped and found themselves to be matter again, they both swooned. The Doctor leaned forward with his hands on his knees and closed his eyes. Martha fell against him and quickly pulled away, as she did not want to sully his brown suit with the technicolour array of spring vegetables she enjoyed for lunch. For that, she found an empty space on the wet, grey concrete.

"All right?" he asked.

"Turned inside out, but other than that, I'm just ducky."

"What the hell was that?"

"You're asking _me?_ Which one of us is the nine-hundred-year-old time-travelling alien?"

He ignored this comment. "We seem to be in the sewer," he muttered.

"Right you are, Doctor," a voice said, hissing loudly from nowhere. He pronounced the Time Lord's name in an exaggeratedly phonetic fashion, so it rhymed with _lock-door._

"I hate being famous," he told Martha, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Everyone knows your name, and you don't know them. It's like, it's always a one-sided relationship, you know?"

Under normal circumstances, Martha would be annihilated to hear him mention the idea of a one-sided relationship, but she was too frightened now. She simply made a mental note to brood over it later, and pay attention to the scary alien now talking through the walls.

"Who are you?" the Doctor called out.

"An enemy," it said, drawing out the last syllable unnecessarily.

"Yeah, I got that," the Doctor said, annoyed. "But what's your name?"

"Ramechac," the alien said. With that, a large red monstrosity materalised before them, clutching what looked like a king's sceptre. He had a giant belly, horns and big, blunt teeth in a wide drooling mouth.

"Oh, of course," the Doctor mused. "The Purveyor of Nightmares. How've you been?"

"So much the better for having found you, Doctor," Ramechac said. "I've been tracking you across the galaxies, but you seem to disappear so often, I could never catch up with you."

"Mm, time travel will do that."

"But here you are," he said. "And now, I get to destroy you."

"Oi! What'd I ever do to you?"

"You work against nightmares," Ramechac explained.

"Well, it's a hobby of mine. So, what are you planning to do with us?" the Doctor asked, trying to cut through the rubbish so he could work out how to get them out.

"I shall plunge you into nightmares," Ramechac said with relish. He looked at Martha and seemed to drool. "And how kind of you to have brought me a tasty treat, Doctor. You bring dreams, fantasies, hope – everything I

despise. One who dreams so often of you will be a vindication for me!"

Martha blushed. Just what she needed: a mind-reading alien telling the Doctor about her dreams.

But, as usual, he didn't seem to notice.

He took three determined steps forward. His face was screwed up in anger now. "If I have anything to say about it…" he began.

"Ah, but you don't!" the alien replied. And suddenly, their faces were pulled again, except this time, their bodies seemed to turn inside-out.

And all at once, Martha felt solid again. Again, the environment had changed. Bright lights shined in her face – she most definitely was no longer in the sewer. When she looked around, she saw a theatrically painted backdrop of night, and to her horror, an audience full of people staring expectantly at her. Soft music was playing from the pit orchestra. She looked down at herself. Her hands and arms and calves were green, and she seemed to be wearing a drab grey uniform of some sort.

But the worst part of all was that when she searched, she could not find the Doctor anywhere. She willed herself to call out for him, but her body would not let her – some force was keeping her voice contained. And oddly, when the musical interlude ended, something impelled her to sing.

She had always had a decent singing voice, but had never felt the need to use it. How was it that now, she was compelled to do nothing else?

_Hands touch, eyes meet_

_Sudden silence, sudden heat_

_Hearts leap in a giddy whirl_

_He could be that boy, but I'm not that girl_

Dear God – she was in _Wicked!_ And she was playing the lead role! A world of nightmares!

_Don't dream too far_

_Don't lose sight of who you are_

_Don't remember that rush of joy_

_He could be that boy, but I'm not that girl_

_Every so often we long to steal_

_To the land of what might have been_

_But that doesn't soften the ache we feel_

_When reality sets back in_

And when the next verse began, she began to get the game. The nightmare wasn't just about the theatre, it was about her life, and the way it had played out over the past few months.

_Lithe smile, lithe limb_

_She who is winsome, she wins him_

_Gold hair with a gentle curl_

_That's the girl he chose_

_And heaven knows I'm not that girl_

_Don't wish, don't start_

_Wishing only wounds the heart_

_I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl_

_There's a girl I know_

_He loves her so… I'm not that girl._

When the lights changed and the audience began to clap, the hot lights left her eyes. As if the scenario hadn't been bad enough, she spied the Doctor in the front row, smiling, clapping, clueless. Again she tried to call his name, snap him out of the spell or whatever they were under, but her body wouldn't allow it. She seemed to be trapped in the body of the lead in a musical.

It was a full thirty seconds before her face began to collapse into a teleportation again. This time, when she was solid, she was not surprised to find the audience staring back at her. She looked to her right. A bunch of actors were pretending to sleep, and illuminated downstage was a bearded man with a long white tunic.

Lovely. _Jesus Christ Superstar_. Again, an unseen force impelled her to sing.

_I don't know how to love him_

_What to do, how to move him_

_I've been changed, yes really changed_

_In these past few days, when I've seen myself_

_I seem like someone else_

_Should I bring him down?_

_Should I scream and shout?_

_Should I speak of love?_

_Let my feelings out?_

_I never thought I'd come to this!_

_What's it all about?_

"Now this has to be illegal," she thought. She was singing the role of a prostitute who was befuddled by her love for a man who seemed supernatural and had been known to save the world. Seriously?

_Don't you think it's rather funny_

_I should be in this position_

_I'm the one who's always been_

_So calm, so cool, no lover's fool_

_Running every show_

_He scares me so_

_I never thought I'd come to this!_

_What's it all about?_

_Yet, if he said he loved me_

_I'd be lost, I'd be frightened,_

_I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope._

_I'd turn my head, I'd back away_

_I wouldn't want to know – _

_He scares me so._

_I want him so…_

_I love him so._

She turned to her left and walked offstage, and there in the wings stood the Doctor, a pair of heavy headphones over his ears, whispering into the head-mike, clipboard in hand. She sighed and walked toward him, though inside, she was trying to scream. As she passed, he patted her on the shoulder and said, "Nice job."

Aaaagh!

She found herself inwardly begging to be turned inside out and dropped anywhere else. Her hope was answered in the next few seconds. The change this time brought her to a stage that seemed to move beneath her feet. She was walking in rhythm with the music, but the turntable kept her in the same position onstage. She was wearing a brown trenchcoat and clutching it around her as though to keep out the cold.

"It's _Les Mis,_" she thought. "Just kill me now."

_And now I'm all alone again, nowhere to turn, no-one to go to_

_Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello to_

_And now the night is near_

_And I can make believe he's here_

_Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping_

_I think of him and then I'm happy with the company I'm keeping_

_The city goes to bed_

_And I can live inside my head_

"And I'm Eponine! Seriously. Kill me."

The tinkling music came in to signify the _true_ beginning of the song. She'd seen this show, and her grandmother had been a fanatic – she knew enough to know that this song was THE anthem to unrequited love. And now that bloody red monster was going to make her sing it to the world.

_On my own, pretending he's beside me_

_All alone, I walk with him 'til morning_

_Without him, I feel his arms around me_

_And when I lose my way, I close my eyes_

_And he has found me_

_In the rain, the pavement shines like silver_

_All the lights are misty in the river_

_In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight_

_And all I see is him and me_

_Forever and for ever_

_"_Ugh, here we go," she thought. "Buckle up."

_And I know it's only in my mind_

_That I'm talking to myself and not to him_

_And although I know that he is blind_

_Still I say there's a way for us_

_I love him, but when the night is over_

_He is gone, the river's just a river_

_Without him, the world around me changes_

_The trees are bare and everywhere_

_The streets are full of strangers_

_I love him, but every day I'm learning_

_All my life, I've only been pretending_

_Without me, his world will go on turning_

_A world that's full of happiness_

_That I have never known…_

_I love him, I love him, I love him_

_But only on my own._

She stood onstage and waited out the applause. The scene changed around her as pieces of the set moved to form the student's barricade that characterises the second half of the show. She moved off as actors descended upon the scene. She noticed, among the cast, the Doctor wearing the black vest and white cravat of Marius, the law student who was in love with the wistful and innocent Cosette… the tragically ignorant love interest of Eponine.

Martha felt as though she was being punched in the guts as she saw this. When she got back to herself, she would grind this alien's bones to make her bread! This was not just a nightmare – it was her conception of hell. Unrequited love was a way of life for her, but to proclaim it to the world via a medium she hated, with the Doctor standing by, now playing the role of the love interest… yep, hell.

She was whisked again. "Oh, now what?" she wondered. How could it get any worse than playing Eponine in _Les Mis?_

That question was answered in short order. She found herself standing at extreme stage right, downstage, wearing a red, 19th century dance hall dress with a corset and lace-up boots. What cleavage she had was readily apparent. She sang:

_I sit and watch the rain_

_And see my tears run down the windowpane_

Listening to her friend's CDs during her school days told her she was now in the role of Lucy from _Jekyll & Hyde, _yet another prostitute who longed to live at the side of (wouldn't you know it) a doctor, one upstanding Henry Jekyll. And now she knew what special brand of torture this most recent scenario would bring.

From stage left, a second voice rang out, that of another woman.

_I sit and watch the sky_

_And I can hear it heave a sigh_

The lights were bright, but she could see the other woman clearly. She was wearing the costume of a proper 19th century lady, namely, Emma, the wife of Henry Jekyll. She had blonde hair, dark eyes and full, almost pornographic lips.

Rose Tyler as Emma Jekyll.

_Lucy: I think of him_

_Emma: How we were_

_Lucy: And when I think of him_

_Emma: Then I remember…_

_Lucy: Remember…._

_Emma: In his eyes I can see where my heart longs to be_

_Lucy: In his eyes I see a gentle glow, and that's where I'll be safe I know_

_Emma: Safe in his arms, close to his hearts_

_Lucy: But I don't know quite where it starts_

_Emma: By looking in his eyes, will I see beyond tomorrow?_

_Lucy: By looking in his eyes, will I see beyond the sorrow that I feel?_

_Emma: Will his eyes reveal to me promises and lies?_

_Lucy: His body can't conceal from me the love in his eyes._

_Emma: They're like an open book, his eyes_

_Lucy: I know their every look, his eyes_

_Emma: And most of all_

_Both: The look that hypnotised me_

Both "actresses" seemed to wind up in anticipation of the song's climax. Both stepped downstage a few feet.

_Emma: If I'm wise, I will walk away, and gladly_

_Lucy: But sadly, I'm not wise, it's hard to talk away the memories that you prize_

_Emma: Love is worth forgiving for_

_Lucy: Now I realise_

_Both: Everything worth living for is there, in his eyes_

_Both: Love is worth forgiving for, now I realise_

_Everything worth living for is there, in his eyes!_

Martha thought she might vomit as she and a nightmare version of Rose stood and received their applause. She looked down into the orchestra pit, and there stood the Doctor in a tux, conducting. He blew a kiss at Rose, and gave her a tiny round of applause with an adoring look on his face.

"I hope the tuba player's not had his dinner, because I'm about to lose mine right in his instrument."

But before she could find out, she was back in the London sewer. The force of the transport made her fall forward a bit, and as it happened, the Doctor arrived at the same time. His own falling forward drove him into a wall, which told Martha that he'd been on a similar nightmare ride. She dared not think what lies in the nightmares of a Time Lord.

The sewer was empty, fortunately, and the giant talking red blob had gone.

"What the hell?" she asked, breathless.

"Standard physical consciousness displacement," he answered, leaning against the wall. "Ramechac is an expert at it. The only reason we survived, I'd wager, is that a crowd formed above on the pavement and broke his contact with the manipulation satellite. Otherwise, we'd be stuck in our nightmares forever."

"What were yours?" she asked. She couldn't help herself.

"Oh, you know me," he said. "Fire, destruction, death."

"Yeah, same here," she lied. She knew it didn't make any sense, but he nodded.

"So… where were we? Ah yes. We were talking about seeing a play. Although, on second thought, why don't we just go get a curry and watch _Finding Nemo_?"

"Great!" she exclaimed. "You get the food, I'll get the DVD ready."

"You've got it," he said. "By the way… you have a beautiful singing voice, you know?" And with that, he walked up a nearby staircase onto the street above.

And Martha found herself suddenly in an entirely new kind of nightmare.


End file.
